Owl Me, Maybe?
by Aima D. Duragon
Summary: Harry goes to a Polyjuice bar and runs into someone he never expected... HP/DM


**Title**: Owl Me, Maybe?

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for mature themes.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, and damn well has enough money to prove it!

**A/N**: Yay fluff! I know this song is probably really old to everyone by now buuuuuuut..I still think it's adorable so...yeah. This story is dedicated to the wonderful **Monox**. Enjoy!

P.S. My beta, **ThexBlairxWitch**, totally saved this one shot from epic horribleness...really...y'all have no idea.

* * *

_**~xXxXxXx~**_

_You took your time with the call_

_I took no time with the fall_

_You gave me nothing at all_

_But still, you're in my way_

_I beg and borrow and steal_

_Have foresight and it's real_

_I didn't know I would feel it _

_But it's in my way_

_Your stare was holdin'_

_Ripped jeans, skin was showin'_

_Hot night, wind was blowin'_

_Where you think you're goin' baby?_

-Carly Rae Jepson

_**~xXxXxXx~**_

* * *

Harry was nervous.

It didn't matter that the evening was pleasant and cool, or that he was wearing his lucky  
'I bleed red and gold' briefs—he was undoubtedly and incontrovertibly nervous. He hadn't sweat this much since the embarrassing fiasco at Ron's bachelor party. Harry grimaced, glancing down at himself. He was going to ruin his shirt if he wasn't careful. Drawing his wand, he muttered yet another cleaning charm under his breath and ordered his nerves to contain themselves.

So what if this was his first night out at a gay bar? That wasn't such a big deal, right?

Ok…so maybe it wasn't your typical gay bar. It also happened to be a Polyjuice bar. People would go in, buy a remixed potion containing the DNA of some celebrity or another, and go have a good time. It was a novel sort of idea, yes, but it still seemed cool. Refreshing. Nobody cared about names, or wealth, or power, because for the night everyone had them.

This particular Polyjuice bar—a place called The Pink Chameleon (which was, in Harry's opinion, taking the definition of cliché to a new extreme)—had offered to give him a free membership in exchange for weekly samples of his hair. Initially, Harry had refused the offer, but it didn't take too long for curiosity to get the best of him. So here he was, walking towards The Pink Chameleon with a vial of hair samples in hand.

He made a sharp left and suddenly his nose was assaulted with the fragrance of roses. The light, too, had gone from spotlights of saffron to a pale pink glow. Harry glanced up dubiously and saw thousands of rose petals floating not ten feet overhead. _Merlin help me_, Harry thought, his nose wrinkling, _this is going to be one of _those_ sorts of places_. Harry pushed his legs faster, if only so the smell wouldn't be quite so intense.

He saw the sign for the club not a minute later—a quaint wooden board with white lettering and a red border, hanging just above a large black door. Harry's gate faltered as he neared the entrance, and he couldn't help the nervous glance he cast back over his shoulder. Not that he thought anyone was following him or anything—still, there was no harm in being cautious.

Reaching out, he slipped his fingers around the cool black metal of the doorknob. The door opened into a long narrow hallway with plush red carpeting. On the left side, at the far end of the hall, Harry saw that the upper half of the wall was gone. _Probably the concierge_, Harry thought timidly. Slowly, he pushed the door shut behind him and began walking down the hall. The smell of roses still hung heavily in the air, and frankly, it was beginning to make Harry's nose tingle unpleasantly.

He finally reached the inlet, which opened up into a small room, separated from the hall by a narrow desk. On the other side of the desk sat a young man about Harry's age. He had sandy brown hair, light brown eyes ringed with black eyeliner, and lips were stained a shade of red that really did nothing for his—_No_! Harry berated himself silently. He may have been at a gay bar, but he certainly wasn't going to start thinking about shades of lipstick. Just…no.

The young man swiveled in his chair, finally seeming to realize that Harry was there. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I—" And then he saw Harry's face, and his overly red lips lost all capability of coherent speech. "I—I can't believe—it's—you're—"

"Harry Potter, yes, yes." Harry tried not to roll his eyes. At least the other man's nerves seemed to calm his own. He set the vial of his hair clippings on the desk and slid it forward. "I've been exchanging owls with Noey? He said if I brought this," his eyes flicked down to indicate the vial, "that I could get in for free. Does that offer still stand?"

"I—yes! Yes, of course!" The young man took the vial with trembling hands. "Just—ah—choose someone from the list and I'll ready a potion for you." He gestured up at a board overhead that Harry hadn't noticed before.

The Gryffindor began scanning the list of names.

_Agrippa (age 28)_

_Andros the Invincible (age 31)_

_Heathcote Barbary (age 24)_

_Albus Dumbledore (age 23) (Gold Member Exclusive)_

_Merton Graves (age 22)_

_Godric Gryffindor (Gold Member Exclusive)_

_Gwenog Jones (age 23)_

_Draco Malfoy (age 20) (Platinum Member Exclusive)_

_Harry Potter (age 20) (Gold Member Exclusive)_

_Salazar Slytherin (Platinum Member Exclusive)_

_Severus Snape (age 25) (Platinum Member Exclusive)_

_Myron Wagtail (age 27)_

_Bowman Wright (age 22)_

Harry couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him as he read Draco Malfoy's name. Who the hell would ever want to be that ferret-faced git? Though, he thought it a whit better than being Snape. Big nose and greasy hair? Harry shuddered. But he supposed everybody had their kinks.

"Have you made a decision, Mr. Potter?" the young man asked, sounding much more sure of himself now.

Harry blinked. "I—er—" He stared back up at the list. Well…as long as his name was already on the list (and he didn't even want to think about how they'd managed that)… "Can I go in as myself this time?"

The young man seemed startled by the question. "Well, no one really does that here except—" he pressed his lips together suddenly, his face flushing. "Of course you can, Mr. Potter. Of course. Go right on in."

Harry smiled and thanked him as the wall to his right shifted. It opened up into another long hall, lit by charmed candles that had blue flames instead of yellow. The reflection of their flames danced across the overhead crystal chandeliers and made them glitter like shards of ice. Harry's ears thrummed with the beat of music, and it drew him forward like a siren's call. He jumped slightly when the wall closed behind him, but just at it clicked shut, another wall opened at the far end of the hall. The blue glow was suddenly fringed with red, and the music grew even louder. Taking deep steadying breaths, Harry made his way towards the red glow.

Once he drew closer, he could hear voices—people talking, mingling, laughing, and doing whatever else people did at clubs. The hall ended abruptly and opened up into a large room. There were men everywhere, but Harry could tell from the denser clusters that the bar was situated on the left and the dance floor on the right. The club expanded farther back as well, but Harry didn't bother with anything beyond a glance. He could explore later. Right now, he needed a drink.

Mind set, the Gryffindor began weaving his way towards the bar. Fortunately enough, there weren't too many of his doppelgangers walking around, though strangely most of the ones he did see weren't wearing glasses. How they managed to see was beyond him. A spell? Contacts maybe? Harry tried not to dwell on it too much, or on the fact that one particular doppelganger had unabashedly eyed him up and down.

Even stranger, however, was the number of Draco Malfoys. One passed him just then, and Harry gave him a hard discerning look. Maybe he could admit that the blonde wasn't as hideous as remembered. Harry cocked his head. Okay, so maybe he was bloody gorgeous, but this guy—whoever he was—had him all wrong. His hair was swept forward instead of back, hiding the prominence of Malfoy's large grey eyes, and his smile was way too shy. Harry wasn't even going to touch the subject of wardrobe. Wrong. All of it. And for some reason it really bothered him.

He definitely needed that drink.

Harry pushed his way through the suffocating crowd until he reached the open air at the bar. He leaned against it heavily and waved at the bartender. But apparently there were other, more thirsty looking, customers who needed his attention first.

"You're going to have to tip him first."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. He turned to see Draco Malfoy smirking at him—or no—someone who _looked_ like Draco Malfoy.

"Oh." Harry swallowed against the lump that had grown in his throat. "Why's that?"

Not-Malfoy quirked a brow. "If you take a good look at his arse, I think it'll answer your question."

Harry looked and felt his face heat. Assless chaps. He quickly averted his eyes and dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a couple galleons. He made sure the bartender was watching when he dropped them into the tip jar.

"What's your name?" Not-Malfoy asked.

_Crap_! Harry turned back towards the other man. He couldn't just say his name was Harry Potter, could he? Was that allowed? Did people do that? Best to just come up with a fake name. "John." Yeah, okay…because that wasn't the lamest fake name _ever_! "What's yours?" Why couldn't he have picked something suave? Something cool? Like—

"Damien."

Damien! Damien was a great fake name!

"Is it your first time here?" Damien asked conversationally.

Harry frowned. "Is it obvious?"

"Only a little. The tipping paradigm is the first thing most people learn here so it kind of gave you away."

"Oh…"

Damien leaned in towards him then, and suddenly all the air seemed to leave Harry's lungs. "May I tell you something, John?" His voice was a soft velvet purr.

"I—yes," Harry stuttered dumbly.

"I've seen a lot of Harry Potters come through here, but you by far are the best." Damien's eyes raked his body. "Really. You've got him down to a T."

"And how would you know that exactly? Do you stalk him or something?" It was Harry's attempt at flirting. He _sucked_ at flirting. Not to mention it put him on edge that the person he was trying to flirt with was currently wearing the face of his long-time rival.

"No." Damien smirked again, sipping idly from his caramel colored drink. "But I've seen him often enough to know." His face contorted briefly with some brooding thought. "How about you though?"

"What?"

"I mean," he leveled Harry with a look that could've melted tungsten, "how do _you_ know his look so well?"

"I—er—" Harry floundered. "I've seen him before a few times too. And he was in the newspapers so much…" He trailed off, hoping it was enough. New subject. He needed a new subject! "You make a pretty good Draco Malfoy too by the way."

And now that Harry mentioned it, he noticed that Damien really _did_ make for a good Draco Malfoy. His hair was swept back, not as rigidly as when they were boys, but it was still immaculate. His nails were perfectly manicured and his clothing practically shouted expensive. His expression, too, was uncanny. Confidence interlaced with a deep-seated pride, and just a dash of condemnation. It was all there, in the curve of his mouth and the tilt of his head. The only thing different was the eyes. Damien's were softer—more full of warmth.

Damien grinned, seemingly amused by Harry's statement. "You really think so?"

"I do." Harry returned the grin. "Though, I'd say you're much more pleasant to be around."

Damien's expression faltered.

"What'll it be, sweetheart?" the bartender's voice rang in Harry's ear.

Harry turned to see the bartender staring at him expectantly. "Oh, well…I…um…" What was that one drink he liked?

"We'll have two shots of tequila, top-shelf, and he'll have a Kamikaze," Damien said.

A Kamikaze! That was it! Harry nodded in agreement, and tried not to stare when the bartender turned around and began making their drinks.

Harry looked back at Damien, only to find that he was looking right back.

"On me, alright?"

Harry bit his lip. "No, you really don't have to—"

Damien pressed two fingers to Harry's lips, which made his heart stutter. "I insist." When he lowered his hand, his thumb lingered over Harry's bottom lip before it finally dropped back to his side.

_Oh God_. _Ohgodohgodohgod_! Malfoy was totally trying to get in his pants! Or no—Damien was trying to get into his pants! The mere thought made Harry's face bloom with heat. Well his pants were definitely off limits! His shirt, however, was negotiable. He couldn't deny that he wouldn't mind seeing the other man with his shirt off as well. From the looks of it, Malfoy still kept up with his Quidditch training and—_WHOA_! This was Malfoy's body, not Damien's, and he _did not_ want to see Malfoy's body. Did not! He repeated this to himself several times over, willing his nether regions to agree. Why the hell did he think it would be a good idea to come here again? This was way too stressful.

Thankfully, the tequila and Kamikaze arrived not a moment later. Harry and Damien each took a shot, clinked glasses and downed the clear liquid. The burn seemed to slide down Harry's throat only to crawl back up again.

"Here."

Suddenly a crescent of lime was shoved into his mouth.

"Suck," Damien ordered.

Harry did, and gave a relieved sigh through his nose as the juice coated his tongue. He sank his teeth into the fruit's flesh, trying to get every last ounce of liquid out of it. In his zeal, he felt some of the juice spill over his lips and slide down his chin.

Damien made a strange gagging sort of noise. Clearing his throat, he reached up and wiped the juice away with the pad of his thumb. He then brought the digit to his mouth, and Harry watched in silent awe as the tip of his pink tongue swept over his skin.

Harry very nearly choked on his lime, because _holy fuck that was hot_! And the way the blonde's eyes—sharp and flashing like steel—were boring into him…Harry shivered and pulled the lime from his mouth. This was so messed up. He was _not_ supposed to find someone wearing Mafloy's face this attractive. Who the hell licked juice off of people's faces anyway? That move had trashy romance novel written all over it! Maybe this Damien guy was actually just some fat well-to-do nerd getting his kicks by wearing a handsome face. Harry set his lime down on the bar, suddenly realizing that Damien might be thinking the exact same thing about him.

"You even have his clumsiness down," Damien said with a snicker. "And that adorable vacant expression as well."

"I—" Harry blushed as his lips pursed. "My expression isn't vacant!"

"Oh no?" Damien mocked.

"It's pensive!"

The blonde nodded somberly. "Oh, yes, pensive. Of course, of course. Forgive me, I seemed to have momentarily lost my grip on the English language." Then his mouth stretched out into a wide curling grin, and Harry's heart flipped. He had never seen Malfoy smile before. It…it looked pretty good on him.

"Hey," the sound of Malf—Damien's!—voice pulled him back to reality. "What do you say we move to the back where it's a bit more quiet?"

Harry nodded. "Erm, sure."

Smiling that same smile that inexplicably had Harry's insides melting, Damien grabbed his drink and gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry did, very nearly forgetting his own drink in the process. When they reached the bulk of the crowd, Damien reached back and took Harry's hand in his own. Harry was suddenly very thankful that it was so dark, because he was pretty sure that his face now closely resembled the color of Ron's hair. It was strange somehow, that this hand that had hit him so many times was so soft and warm. This pressure of his fingers was so gentle it felt like his hand had just been wrapped in a silken cloth. He wondered what that hand would feel like wrapped around—_whoa there, Harry, calm down_. _ Just caaaaaalm down. Deep breaths. You _did not_ just imagine _anything_ about Draco Malfoy's hand._

Together they pushed and weaved their way through the thick crowd. Well, Damien pushed and weaved while Harry had his arse grabbed more times than he cared to admit. They rounded a corner and suddenly the red light was exchanged for a muted shade of lavender.

_The rooms must be color coded_, Harry thought with mild amusement.

The sound of the music was definitely much softer here, and Harry immediately realized that that was because this room was not for dancing. White leather loveseats littered the floor, separated by long bronze vases that held hundreds of pale glowing branches. It looked as if they had just stepped into some fairy tale's version of an enchanted forest…with furniture.

"It's a bit gaudy, I know," Damien said, "but it's the only quiet place in the club, aside from the black room. But something tells me you're not into that kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?"

Damien looked at him, his grey eyes dancing. "Exhibitionism," he answered with a wink.

Harry blushed. People really did that kind of thing? "Ha—have you ever been in there?"

"Once—out of curiosity mostly—but I never participated. To me, feeling the need to demonstrate prowess at something like that sends off signals of diffidence. They need approval of their actions because they lack confidence without praise." Damien leaned in closer, and Harry's nose was filled with the scent of his cologne. "I happen to already know the prodigiousness of my…abilities." The last word came out in a husky sort of purr that had Harry's blood boiling. "Would you like to sit?" Damien gestured towards one of the unoccupied couches.

Harry nodded, swallowing audibly. Yes, sitting was probably a good idea seeing as his legs were threatening to give out at any moment. They made their way over to a couch and took a seat, closer together than was absolutely necessary.

Damien took a long drink from his glass before setting it down on the nearby coffee table. Harry mirrored the action. Thankfully the tequila finally seemed to be hitting him. The room felt much lighter now—less daunting—and the color of Malfoy's eyes wasn't quite as unsettling as it had been before.

"You don't drink much do you?" Damien said, chuckling to himself.

"No—er—well, not anymore anyway."

"Ah," the blonde nodded, "bad experience?"

"Bad would be an understatement I think."

Damien inched even closer to Harry. "It wasn't at last year's Hogwarts' reunion party, was it?"

Holy fuck, this kid had been there!? But he didn't know of any Damiens at Hogwarts…

"Sorry," Damien waved off the question. "Just a joke. I'm sure you read about what an arse Potter made of himself. It was even better in person though, trust me." He grinned wickedly, "But really, his friends never should've let him play truth or dare when he was that intoxicated. I have to say though, for a bloke he looked rather fetching in that mini-skirt. I almost envy that lap dance Finnigan got from him."

Oh, this was not good. Definitely not good. He _knew_ this guy, and this guy _knew_ him! And he knew about the skirt. Oh, Merlin, the skirt.

But this was fine. Neither of them knew who the other was, and as long as it remained that way then nothing they said here really mattered. Then again…maybe Harry wanted it to matter.

Damien laughed again and the sound of it made Harry's heart swell, until he remembered that the sound of the laugh actually belonged to Malfoy and he immediately pushed the feeling down. "Don't look so mortified, John. It was all good, innocent fun."

Harry attempted to laugh, but just ended up coughing.

The blonde frowned. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Harry cleared his throat and blinked the tears from his eyes. "I just—doesn't this place ever get to you? I mean, sitting here with me, aren't you wondering who I really am?"

"Well…it's meant to be a fantasy. I'm not supposed to think about who you really are."

"So you're supposed to think I'm Harry Potter?"

Damien shrugged. "Just as you're meant to think of me as Draco Malfoy."

"So you fantasize about being with Harry Potter then?"

For some reason, this seemed to mortify Damien. His eyes went wide and he began fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. "I mean, doesn't everyone?"

Harry didn't know, and he didn't want to know. He just wanted to know if Damien did.

"Why do you think people come here if not for that?"

"I don't know," Harry said, gesturing vaguely. "To escape?"

Damien's eyes searched him restlessly, and something in his expression seemed to soften. Malfoy's faced looked much nicer that way—all smooth lines and soft shadows. "Escape what?"

"Anything. Everything. I mean, to be able to go somewhere and not be yourself—to be able to just blend in—that's what I thought was meant by all of it." Harry smiled tentatively. "Pretty stupid I guess, huh?"

"Incredibly," Damien whispered. Then he dragged his tongue across his bottom lip and Harry's heart skipped. "But that's just the sort of thing he would say."

Harry wanted to ask who, but for some reason his throat didn't seem to be working. Maybe it had something to do with the way Damien's eyes kept dropping to his mouth.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'd like to kiss you now."

And suddenly Harry couldn't breathe. His ribcage tightened in against his lungs, threatening to squeeze the very life out of him. Then, Damien leaned forward, and time seemed to slow. The next moment hung between them, breathless and heated with anticipation.

Then their lips met, and Harry realized something that should've been frightening but somehow wasn't. He'd wanted this. And not just here and not just now, but before here and before now. He'd wanted to know what those lips felt like when they weren't wrapped around spiteful words. He'd wanted to feel that tongue glide against his own, if only to see if it really was as sharp as it proclaimed. And he'd wanted to feel the palms of Malfoy's hands against his skin, to see if they could wipe away the bruises that could no longer be seen.

He'd wanted this. And it was everything he'd hoped for and more.

Malfoy's fingers slid up his chest and around his neck, still wet and cold from holding his glass. They sent sharp shivers down his spine as they danced across his skin even as heat coursed through his blood at the sensation of the blonde's tongue sliding hungrily against his own. Malfoy tasted of alcohol, and smoke, and expensive dark chocolate, and Harry couldn't get enough. Their mouths moved and their heads turned in time, each trying to explore every possible angle, wondering when they would find one that didn't fit. But they all did—from Malfoy crushing their lips together, his fingers fisted in Harry's hair, to Harry gripping the collar of the other man's shirt, his teeth gently teasing Malfoy's bottom lip.

If Harry couldn't breathe before, it was nothing compared to now, especially with the blonde's hand slowing slithering down the length of his torso. Slender fingers lifted the hem of his shirt to slide against the skin underneath.

"Malfoy," Harry gasped against the other man's lips.

Then, suddenly, Harry was shoved back. His head hit the arm of the couch and he could feel the entirety of Malfoy's weight pressing down on him. No, wait…not Malfoy.

Fuck.

Harry opened his eyes, expecting to see any of a number of expressions on Damien's face…but not that one. What was that? Surprise? Fear? All Harry knew was that Damien's eyes were wide, and his mouth was pulled tight. Whatever he was feeling, it obviously wasn't pleasant.

"Why did you just call me that?" Damien asked softly.

Harry shifted beneath him, wishing his body would stop paying attention to how good the blonde's body felt against his own. "I am so sorry," Harry said. "I—it just sort of came out. I mean, you said this was all about fantasies, right? Has—has that never happened to you before?"

"No."

Harry swallowed, his face flushing. "Oh."

Damien's eyes narrowed. "Everyone who hasn't called me Damien has always called me Draco."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that so he didn't.

A long moment passed. Damien's fingers curled against Harry's chest, his nails digging through the cloth of his shirt. "Do you…know me?"

"I…" Harry blinked. "Wait, what?"

"I asked if you knew me," he repeated sternly. "No one calls me Malfoy except people who know me, and those are usually the ones that don't like me much."

A beat of silence, then—"Holy fuck!" Harry bucked hard, sending the blonde careening to the floor. Harry sat up abruptly, feeling as if he'd just been punched in the gut. "Y—you—you're really Malfoy?"

Malfoy glared up at him, rubbing the back of his head tenderly where it must have hit the floor. "Yes, I think I've made that much clear. So who are _you_ then? How do you know me? I don't know any Johns."

Harry's heart was going a mile a minute. This was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was sitting in front of him, lips swollen because Harry had just snogged the hell out of him. And he'd enjoyed it! Holy fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck! He needed to get out of here. Now. And maybe go see a therapist on the way home.

He jumped to his feet, but Malfoy's hand was on his wrist in an instant.

"Oh no you don't." Malfoy used Harry's arm to pull himself to his feet. "You're not leaving until I find out who you are." He pulled Harry in closer, and the Gryffindor was surprised by how strong he was. "Come now. Are you from the Ministry?"

Harry shook his head lamely.

"The book club?"

Malfoy was part of a book club? Harry shook his head again.

"Hogwarts?"

This time Harry didn't move. Why wasn't he lying? He really should be lying.

Malfoy smirked, and Harry mentally kicked himself for not seeing through his guise earlier. How many times had he seen that exact smirk on the Slytherin's stupidly gorgeous face? Something like that could be mimicked, but it couldn't be duplicated. Not that exactly. He should've known—he should've _seen_.

"Hogwarts, hm?" Malfoy looked excited by this. "Not a Slytherin then—I would've been able to tell. So who? Fletchly? Thomas? Merlin, you're not a Weasley are you?"

Harry gulped and shook his head once more.

"I don't know why you're freaking out," Malfoy said with a laugh. "Coming as Potter really isn't that big of a deal. I mean, it's not like…" The blonde trailed off, and Harry could see the gears of his mind working behind his eyes. "Wait, you're not…you can't be…"

For some reason Harry's heart sank. "Harry Potter?"

Malfoy jerked his hand back like Harry's skin was on fire. His Adam's apple began bobbing up and down, and Harry couldn't help but stare at it.

"Holy fuck," Malfoy breathed.

Harry merely nodded. "I know."

"Potter! What the fuck are you doing coming to a place like this as yourself!"

"What? In case you hadn't noticed, you came as yourself too!"

"And so that makes it okay for you to do it too?" Malfoy gestured wildly. "If I jumped off a bridge would you jump too?

"I didn't do it because you did it! How was I supposed to know you would be here? I didn't even know you were gay!"

There was a long pause.

Harry shifted on his feet, glaring at the blonde. "This is the part where you're supposed to say you didn't know I was gay either."

Malfoy's lips quirked slightly.

"You knew!?"

He shrugged. "I had an idea."

"Well great." Harry flung out his arms. "That's just great. Not only does my worst enemy have a crush on me, but he knew I was gay too!"

"Voldemort knew you were gay?"

"I was talking about you!"

Malfoy smirked, and Harry didn't know why his knees weakened at the sight of it. The blonde stepped in closer, arching one perfectly groomed brow. "Well, that's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Harry had to swallow several times before he could get his mouth to work. "What is?"

"Calling me your worst enemy. I mean, I've always thought of our relationship as an adolescent rivalry made to define our characters and mask our sexual tension."

"S-s-sexual tension?"

"Don't play coy, Potter," Malfoy said, running the tip of his finger up the length of Harry's arm. Harry knew he was doing it just to watch him squirm, but that didn't make the shivers trickling down his spine any less real. "You were practically begging me to kiss you all night."

Harry finally shied away from the other man's touch. "That was before I knew you were you, and you knew I was me."

"And if we still didn't know, where do you suppose we'd be right now?"

Harry didn't respond, but he couldn't stop his eyes from flickering back to the couch where they had been sitting just minutes before. Frankly, and as much as he hated to admit it, the Slytherin was right. If Malfoy's name hadn't slipped out of his traitorous mouth the two of them would most likely still be snogging each other senseless, naïve of everything that stood between them now. Harry supposed that it was better that they had found out, before things had gotten…out of hand, but even so there was a part of him—and a very small, miniscule, borderline microscopic part at that!—that wished they hadn't found out. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that small. Harry's eyes flickered back up to Malfoy's lips, remembering how soft and plush they had felt against his own. Alright, maybe the part was fucking huge.

"See?" Malfoy said, pulling Harry from his reverie. He smiled then, and it was that sort of smile that said he knew something that Harry didn't. "You _like_ me."

Harry sputtered. "What? No I don't!" _Even though my pants are a little more than uncomfortable right now_.

"You really are a horrible liar," Malfoy remarked, snickering. "It's alright that you do. I just told you that I thought you looked fetching in a skirt, so obviously you're not going to get rejected or anything."

Harry stood motionless for what felt like a very long time. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," the blonde closed the distance between them once more, "who cares if you're you and I'm me? What does it even matter anymore?"

"It matters that we hate each other!"

Malfoy leaned down then and Harry could feel the heat of his breath pooling against his face. And there, under the glow of the lavender lights, Harry could've sworn he was caught in a dream, because there was no way this was real. The soft curve of Malfoy's cheek, the delicate line of his neck, the way his pale lashes curled down against the sharp grey of his eyes—there was no way someone could be this beautiful.

"You said my name when we kissed," he whispered so softly that Harry had to lean in closer to hear. "You don't hate me."

Harry's eyes dropped down to the other boy's lips for but a moment. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Malfoy's lips curled. "Care to prove me wrong?"

By now Harry's heart was pounding so hard that he thought it might explode from his chest. He knew what the blonde had just said, but somehow he couldn't manage to wrap a single coherent thought around the words, much less think up a response to them.

"I didn't think so," Malfoy whispered before crushing their lips together once more.

And suddenly Harry didn't care about words anymore, or that this was Malfoy, or that he really _really_ shouldn't be enjoying the other man's arm wrapped so tightly around his back. He couldn't explain it—there was just something in this. Heat? Ferocity? He didn't know, because it felt exactly the same as it had at Hogwarts, only now it had somehow twisted itself inside out. Harry was somehow experiencing a part of Malfoy that he had always been able to see, but until this moment had never been able to touch. And, Merlin help him, it felt good.

Harry's hands slid up and his fingers curled into the fabric of Malfoy's shirt, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened. The Slytherin's tongue slid against his lower lip, and Harry opened his mouth compliantly, moaning as he felt the heat of the other boy's mouth mixing with his own. Smirking, Malfoy fisted his hands in Harry's hair and none too gently pulled his head back. Harry barely suppressed a gasp when he felt the other man's teeth scrape against his bared skin. He didn't even have time to feel embarrassed by the issue that had so obviously developed downstairs what with Malfoy's mouth driving him clear over the edge of insanity. His tongue traced small dizzying patterns that had Harry's nerves buzzing, while his teeth sent sharp electric jolts racing up and down his spine.

Yeah, okay, so his pants were definitely negotiable.

"Hey, um, Malfoy? I—" Harry's breath hitched as the blonde hit a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. Harry could feel the other man's smile press into his skin as he began to tease him mercilessly. "Do—do you want to go back to my place?"

Malfoy hummed against his neck, which did nothing to help with the predicament Harry's body was currently enduring. "Mmm, your place?"

Harry struggled to breathe as Malfoy's arm practically crushed their bodies together. Well…at least now he knew that the blonde was just as turned on as he was. "Y-yes."

Malfoy pulled back, moving to nip at Harry's ear. "How about coffee instead?"

Now that the Slytherin's lips were clear of his neck, Harry's mind could finally begin swimming back to rational thought. Though, admittedly, Harry had never been a good swimmer. "Coffee?" he mumbled.

"Yes." His breath was so hot. "Tomorrow. Perhaps somewhere in Diagon Alley?"

"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?"

"Malfoy laughed. "Because it's 2am, and it's time for us to go home."

"Home?" Harry blinked, suddenly realizing that the music from the other room had stopped and the room they were in was all but empty. "The club's already closing?"

"In the club's defense, you did get here pretty late." Malfoy's hand slid down to grab his own, and with a self-satisfied sort of smile he began pulling Harry towards the exit. "So you never gave me an answer on my coffee proposal."

Harry stared down at their hands for a long moment. Butterflies were still fluttering in his stomach, and this really had to be the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to him in his whole life. "Would it be like…a date?"

"Yes," Malfoy replied without skipping a beat.

"Oh."

"Oh? So you just wanted to get in my pants then? Get your 'I fucked a Slytherin' badge and be done with it?"

"No!" Harry said, shaking his head and tightening his grip on Malfoy's hand. "No, that's not what I meant at all. I just thought—you know—that _you_ wouldn't want to."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed skeptically. "I asked you, didn't I?"

_Uh_…"Yeah?"

"Then why the hell wouldn't _I_ want to?"

_Holy mother of Merlin's beard, Harry, stop being such a total and complete idiot_! "Right! Well—er—then yeah, we should try that."

There was an uncomfortably long pause. "You've been single for a really long time, haven't you?"

"Three years." Harry looked speculatively at the other man. "How did you know?"

Malfoy's cheek creased as his mouth lifted up into its usual smirk—Harry was mildly surprised the line hadn't stuck around permanently yet. "Well it was either that or you had some sort of social disorder, so I decided to be hopeful and go with the former."

Harry snorted.

"Not to worry, Potter!" Malfoy said, his smirk melting into laughter. "You've come to the right man. Who knows? Maybe you'll get that 'I fucked a Slytherin badge sooner than you think." He winked, and Harry couldn't manage to stop a blush from creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

They had reached the street entrance now. Both of them slowed to a stop, their hands still intertwined and pressed between them. Silence hung between them for a long while. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to be the first to end the night. Harry knew that stepping out that door tonight would be like stepping out of a dream and back into reality. That's what this was after all, wasn't it? A dream? How could it possibly be anything else? He was standing here holding _Draco Malfoy's_ hand for Merlin's sake! And enjoying it! Was he to believe that a single night could have changed everything so easily?

But that was how life was a lot of the time, wasn't it? A single moment—a letter, a missed train, a phone call, or even bumping into an old rival at a bar—could change everything. Harry squeezed Malfoy's hand, and Malfoy squeezed his right back. It was the scariest most exhilarating feeling in the whole world.

"So," Harry said softly, "you'll owl me, maybe?"

Malfoy looked at him then, and Harry's heart fluttered because nobody had ever looked at him like _that_. Then, Malfoy leaned down and pressed his lips softly against Harry's, and breathed out the word, "Definitely."

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